


On the Long Way Down

by insanity_by_proxy



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Multi, Plotty, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanity_by_proxy/pseuds/insanity_by_proxy
Summary: Jyn Erso, a woman with super-strength, is kidnapped by a secret organization whose aim is to "neuter" the Superhuman population and thus preserve the homogeneity of the human race. She is accidentally sprung by K-2, Cassian and co. who were on a mission to rescue their friend Bodhi. Bodhi; who went missing on a mission after his cover was blown while infiltrating the facility to research the rumours of a new weapon capable of locating and neutralizing all Supers.When the Alliance (an internationally-sanctioned organization of Supers and Non-supers) informs Jyn that they might know where her long-lost father is, Jyn is faced with a choice; whether or not to allow herself to get drawn back into a fight that she has spent most of her life running from.Essentially a Superhero AU reimagining of Rogue One, featuring tons of Marvel references, and a great big heaping serving of rebelcaptain on top. Inspired by rogue-star's awesome mood boards/edits on Tumblr.





	1. aka Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this whole work was inspired by rogue-star over on Tumblr. Who has made a bunch of gorgeous edits, but I highly recommend checking these ones out in particular as they inspired and will continue to influence this fic: 
> 
> https://rogue-stars.tumblr.com/post/156322385963/rebelcaptain-au-superheros-after-jyns-mother
> 
> https://rogue-stars.tumblr.com/post/156340794153/rogue-one-au-superheros-the-squad-is-a-group-of
> 
> Title of the fic is taken from the song Long Way Down by Robert DeLong. I highly recommend giving it a listen, and I will probably be creating an unofficial playlist for this fic before very long.
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter is the Jessica Jones Original Soundtrack.

Being a private investigator meant exactly two things; 1. that Jyn Erso didn’t have many friends, and 2. that her experiences led her to dividing the world into two categories; con-artists (a category which included unfaithful spouses, actual con-artists, as well as loan sharks, lawyers, and politicians), and those who got duped by con-artists. Perhaps it was that the second of these facts made the first one true, but Jyn didn’t have time for the philosophy or the psychoanalyzing that would be required to sort out _that_ bundle of character flaws; she had bills to pay. PI-ing kept her fed, and kept a roof over her head (for the most part), if she found a better option someday maybe she’d take it, but at this point in her life Jyn was good at exactly two things: breaking-and-entering, and beating people up. This didn’t leave her with many legal career options, and she’d already exhausted the illegal ones. So Jyn was a private-eye, end of story.

Except for the fact that it wasn’t, not by a long shot; there was a whole lot more to Jyn Erso than met the eye, but Jyn worked hard to make sure that nobody important – nobody with an agenda – ever knew about _that_.

Jyn could and would meet a car head-on in order to stop it in its tracks and thereby keep a bail-hopper from leaving town. After all, who was going to believe him if he told anyone? She’d lift the occasional drug-dealer clean off the ground and several inches above her head in order to frighten him away from a client. But again, who would believe the ravings of a drug dealer who probably sampled his own wares? She’d even use her powers to get a better angle for her camera. But these were harmless displays, easily laughed off as a trick of the eye, or as downright absurd. No sane individual would trust something as easily influenced as their senses to credibly report a woman jumping ten feet vertically into the air. But the world was getting smaller, and the rumors about “Superhumans” were getting louder, and were being met with less skepticism. It was said that there was a secret committee in Congress tasked with dealing with the problems that Supers posed. And those weren’t even the worrying rumours… It was also said that there was a secret organization engaging in extrajudicial killings, the likes of which haven’t been seen since lynch-mobs were a socially acceptable way to spend your Saturday afternoon.

It wouldn’t be long before Jyn would probably be forced to move on from New York. Too much suspicion about her methods would mean being forced to adopt a new identity again, would mean moving to a new city… maybe even a new country.

But to be able to afford any of that, she’d need money. And to get money, she had to work. And so the cycle went on and on, until her alarm clock went off at four in the afternoon and Jyn threw it at the wall, busting yet another dent in the plaster.

Jyn sat up and scrubbed her hands across her eyes, greeting the day with a terse “ _Shit._ ”

Two hours later, after a cold shower, a breakfast of leftover cold pizza, and the realization that she had exactly 17 hours before her next meeting with her current client who was threatening to drop her if she didn’t find some sort of dirt on her husband before then, Jyn found herself wandering the familiar streets of New York City. The night was dark and every surface shone with a layer of water left by the rain clouds that had passed overhead not an hour before, reflecting back the lights of passing cars and neon signs in an almost psychedelic display. It was a typical autumn evening for New York by all accounts. The air had a bite to it that warned everyone of the coming frosts of winter, and another year of biting cold.

Jyn did not relish the thought of another winter spent in her damp and drafty apartment. But funds were still too low to move, and her current place was the only apartment in the whole city that she could actually afford, or so it seemed. Jyn wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, pulling her jacket more firmly against her body and ducking her head into her scarf against the bitter winds of a phantom Nor’ Easter that she could already feel howling through the streets. Jyn hated being cold, had done ever since she was sixteen years old and Saw Gerrera had left her in middle-of-nowhere, South Dakota in late November. Being cold just reminded her of the fact that she was alone in the world, surviving on naught but her wits and the skills that Saw had drilled into her. Surviving in spite of all that had been thrown her way, and in spite of all the people who had ever abandoned her because she wasn’t worth their time or support… Jyn preferred to let such thoughts fester rather than examine them, it simply hurt too much to think about; why her mother had left her, why her father didn’t want her, why Saw had raised her only to leave her for dead… No, it was better just to distract herself with work and other shiny things. But it all led to one conclusion: Jyn _hated_ the cold.

So lost in thought, Jyn almost ran right into her mark. A rookie mistake, the likes of which she hadn’t made in many years. She was left breathing down the necks of the man she was tailing, as well as that of his _companion_ for the evening. Fortunately however, the two seemed so lost in their own little world that Jyn, standing far too close for what was considered polite or normal, didn’t even factor into it. Even as she watched, the man pulled his companion closer and whispered something, no doubt salacious, in her ear. Jyn’s lip curled in disgust.

The fact that this man’s wife had to hire her to figure out that he was cheating didn’t speak highly of the woman’s intelligence. The husband was hardly discreet, meeting his date for the evening right out of work, and bringing her to the same restaurants that he frequented with his wife.

Not for the first time, Jyn found herself thanking her lucky stars that she seemed to be immune to the charms of both men and women. A casual fling now-and-then? Sure. But in Jyn’s line of work she could see more clearly than most that _attachment_ , _feelings,_ _love_ ; they only led to problems. It was within that grey-area between love, jealousy, and possessiveness where Jyn plied her trade, and she’d be damned if she let herself fall prey to the same traps that her clients came to her in order to sort out.

A few blocks further along, Jyn started snapping pictures from across the street as the couple she stalked starting necking on a park bench. Between these pictures and the ones that she had taken at the restaurant, Jyn had the evidence necessary to get her client that divorce, and more importantly, her own paycheck.

Satisfied with her work, Jyn packed up her camera and started heading towards the location of another job that had fallen into her lap earlier that week. Her mark for this assignment was a restraining-order-breaking-jailbird, and Jyn was determined to see this bastard back where he belonged.

If there was one class of person Jyn hated more than any other, it was people who were told to back-off and who didn’t get the message the first time.

Interrogations of the Bastard’s friends from the past few evenings revealed that the Bastard was still in town, and that he was falling back into old patterns; visiting his favorite bars and clubs by night and holing up with his buddies by day. Jyn started making her way towards one of the clubs now, taking short-cuts through the network of alleys that she knew like the back of her hand.

By this point in her life in New York City, Jyn had made enough of a reputation for herself amongst the criminal classes of the city that she could walk these streets all hours of the day and only rarely be harassed or accosted. Word spread quickly about the PI with the super-strength, and it was only the uninitiated that tried to mug her now. Jyn walked past a group of such men on the way to the club, men who might otherwise have seen a diminutive girl like her as a mark. She tossed them a cocky grin and a flippant wave as she passed. The men glared daggers at her, some avoided looking at her altogether, but not one moved a muscle to provoke her further or prevent her freedom of movement through their turf.

Being a Super had its difficulties, but Jyn wouldn’t give up this ability to take on the entire world for anything.

Sure enough, when Jyn arrived at the club (one of New York’s lower-end establishments) the Bastard was arguing with the bouncers over how drunk he already was in order to get inside. Much to Jyn’s displeasure the bouncers glanced at each other but relented; apparently not paid enough to bother with the Bastard until he actually caused trouble. Or maybe they were just looking forward to dealing with him when they’d have the excuse to rough him up a bit. Either way, the Bastard was entering the club, and Jyn knew that in her current outfit (jeans, combat boots, thick scarf, leather jacket, and messenger bag) that she would stick out like a sore thumb if she were to get inside. There was nothing for it, Jyn would just have to wait until he moved on and see if he went someplace where she could blend-in a bit better, and get close enough to grab him.

Jyn glanced around the street, taking in her surroundings and looking for a suitable place to hunker-down and loiter for an hour or two. The street was little more than a back-alley itself, located in a disused old warehouse district by the river on the Westside. There wasn’t much here aside from a few wannabe edgy clubs and old storage facilities, not to mention the permanent musty stink of the Hudson.

There were a few alleyways that would be fine to crouch in under normal circumstances, but with the bouncers waiting outside the door, she would definitely be noticed eventually. And PI’s weren’t exactly good for a club’s business. “Damn it,” Jyn hissed and began walking down the road. She’d have to do this another night, and would probably have to do it in heels…

By the time Jyn was several blocks away she had decided to go to the all-night diner over on 8th near the Garment District. Their pancakes were still the best in the city, and those pancakes plus bottomless refills of coffee were calling her name as a consolation prize for the bounty she wouldn’t be collecting tonight. Lost in thought, Jyn put one foot out to cross the street when a van tore around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her, nearly running her over.

“Oi! Watch it, asshole!” Jyn cursed, thumping the side of the van for good measure.

Jyn barely had time to react as the door to the van slid open, and several sets of arms grabbed her, hauling her into the vehicle.

Under normal circumstances, Jyn would have no trouble freeing herself from four unarmed men, even as tiny as she was. Strength was her specialty, Saw had told her, just as the manipulation of metal was his, and he had tried to train her as best he could in the mastery of her talent. She could now throw a punch without the fear of killing a man, and jog without the fear of not being able to stop, but every once in a while her control would falter, and accidents happened.

These were not normal circumstances: and even though one of the four men had managed to get a bag over her head, Jyn was still able to kick two of them away, cracking at least one sternum in the process. The other two she shoved into the sides of the van so hard that the impact dented the steel. At which point, Jyn was able to pull the hood off of her head and survey the damage. Fortunately, the men were still alive, if knocked out or incapacitated. There was nothing defining about the inside of the van, or of the men’s uniforms, that would provide Jyn with any information as to why they’d kidnapped her in the first place.

Jyn felt the van screech to a halt, and she had to throw her arm out to keep from toppling over. Two doors slammed from the front of the vehicle, and Jyn readied herself to take these new captors on. The side-door slid open, albeit with some difficulty as it was blocked by one of the unconscious men’s head. But the moment it was wide enough Jyn bolted, taking out one of the new kidnappers simply by throwing herself out of the van. However, by the time she scrambled to her feet and got a good look at her surroundings Jyn knew that she was screwed. Aside from the driver, and his now-unconscious companions, there were at least ten other similarly black-clad men, as well as a helicopter hovering above her and pointing a spot light down at her between the buildings.

“Jyn Erso, stand down.” A voice ordered over a megaphone. “Put your hands up where we can see them, or we will have no choice but to use lethal force.”

Jyn considered her options: she couldn’t outrun ten or more guns, and she certainly couldn’t fight ten or more fully-armed men on her own, and they had travelled a significant enough distance that there was no one in sight, and theoretically no one to hear her scream… Jyn didn’t like those odds.

It could never be said that Jyn didn’t know when she was beat. Her hands went into the air, as directed. But when she felt a sharp sting in the side of her neck, one hand went to the source of the pain and pulled out what appeared to be a tranquilizer dart.

Jyn’s eyes scanned the group of kidnappers frantically, looking for the person who’d shot her. But before she could identify the shooter, suddenly the world up-ended and turned on its side leaving Jyn lying on the pavement and trying to process how she’d gotten there. Jyn’s last thoughts before finally succumbing to the drug now coursing through her system were of how she was still really craving the pancakes from the diner on 8th. She watched passively as the assailants closed in around her, lowering their weapons, and patting each other on the back. She felt one of the men roll her over onto her front, and place her hands in cuffs, but her tongue wouldn’t obey her command to protest as the man put his full weight against her spine to do so.

“Tell Director Krennic we’ve found another one…” One of the men said, presumably into a comm-link. “– Not a telepath, no. But her sequencing will still be useful for the Sentinel… Copy that, we’re bringing her back to the facility now.”

Then Jyn knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, my characterization of Jyn in this AU draws heavily from Jessica Jones. Which; the more I thought about it the more it seemed to fit. 
> 
> Next up: Cassian deals with some unpleasant memories (or not), and the crew gets sent on a rescue mission.


	2. Rescue Ops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First of all, apologies for how long this chapter took. Two things slowed me down: figuring out just what sort of scene should transpire in the dream-sequence and then rewriting the infiltration/rescue scene twice. I ended up cutting out most of it in the end, because at just under 6000 words this chapter was just getting too damn long. I’m going to try for a weekly posting schedule, but obviously I can only deliver so long as my muse cooperates. 
> 
> Second, a note about the usage of Spanish in this fic. I decided to utilize Spanish (because why not?) and felt that I could get away with doing so because Spain (and therefore Spanish, with all of its cultural/ethnic variations) does actually exist in this universe. So if you see that I’ve made a mistake with my Spanish, please correct me. I am not a native speaker, but I am at least capable of communicating at a conversational level. That being said, I do still make mistakes. So if you see something, feel free to let me know. You’d actually be doing me a favor! 
> 
> Third, in relation to Cassian specifically, I decided to make his father American to account for the fact that “Cassian” is an Irish name, and “Andor” is a German one. Likewise, I named his sister “Sorcha” to continue with that pattern of an Irish first name. While I made his mother Mexican to account for Diego Luna’s Mexican accent and for the fact that I will have Cassian speaking Spanish at points throughout this fic, if that wasn’t already intuitive. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience and thank you so much to everyone who has commented or left kudos so far! Your support keeps me going!
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter: the X-Men: First Class soundtrack.

The pounding of a fist on the front door is enough to wake Cassian from a sound sleep; three solid thuds in rapid succession, repeating itself every few seconds would wake all but the most comatose of dreamers. Cassian had always been a light sleeper, and probably always would be. As such the six-year-old boy rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up, casting a disoriented glance over to the crib where his sister, Sorcha, had just started to fuss at being woken so rudely. Swinging his legs over the side of his bed Cassian hopped down from the mattress, then padded quietly over to the bedroom door, opening it just a crack in order to peer through and see what was going on.

Cassian’s mother and father hurried around their small apartment frantically, stowing one item or another and speaking in rapid-fire Spanish.

Cassian’s parents had met a little over ten years prior to that night, when Cassian’s American father had traveled to Mexico for work. While there, he had fallen in love with Cassian’s mother, a native of Veracruz. They married two years later, bringing Cassian’s mother to New York, where Cassian was born. About four years after that Cassian’s sister had followed, and they’d lived in a suburb of New York ever since. Cassian’s father was away frequently on work assignments, but it only made the time he was home all the more sweet for it. His mother told him that his father’s work was important, that he was trying to change the world, so Cassian was proud even if he was sad whenever his father would kiss him goodbye.

But none of that could explain why there was someone pounding on their front door in the middle of the night…

“Cassian!” Cassian’s mother hissed. She had spotted her son up and out of bed and she quickly crossed the room to reprimand him. “Get back in bed, and close the door!”

Hearing her mother’s voice, Sorcha woke fully and started to cry, looking for attention.

“¡Ay, Dios mío! ¿Qué más puede salir mal?” Cassian’s mother whispered under her breath as she brushed past her eldest child in order to comfort her youngest. Cassian watched with inquiring eyes as his mother lifted his sister out of her crib, and began bouncing her gently in the way that she liked. Usually this was enough to quiet his sister, Sorcha preferred her mother’s comforting touch over any other. Tonight however, Cassian’s mother did not adopt the typical beatific expression of contentment and love that she normally had when she held his sister. Her expression remained tight and strained, as if she were holding something back. Nor did Sorcha immediately quiet when she found herself lifted into her mother’s arms, she continued to fuss even as her mother rocked her gently.

“Cassian.” Cassian’s father took his attention away from the sight of his mother cradling his sister. “Cassian, I need you to listen to me now.” His father said as he crouched to come to eye-level with his son.

The energy between his parents was tense, and it was starting to infect Cassian too. “What’s wrong, Papi?” The fact that his father didn’t immediately leap to reassure him made Cassian even more uneasy.

The pounding on the door sounded again and Cassian’s father snapped: “Alright, I’m coming!” before turning back to his son with a pained expression. “Cassian, no matter what happens; just know that I love you all -- you, your sister, and your mother -- very much. Do you understand that?”

Cassian nodded, tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes, though he didn’t know why.

“ _Dime,_ Cassito. ¿Me comprendes?”

“Sí, Papi. Yo comprendo.” Cassian replied.

Cassian’s father pulled him into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Bueno.”

_“Jeron…”_ Cassian’s mother said, her voice strained and her eyes wide with fear.

“Everything will be ok, Elena…”

With that, Cassian’s father stood, ruffling Cassian’s hair fondly, before stepping over to his wife and kissing her. Cassian still didn’t understand why, but his mother was crying now, and it was scaring him. Sorcha reached out and wrapped her little arms around her father’s neck as he pressed a kiss to her hair, then began to fuss again as he pulled away.

“Iré contigo.” His mother said, and her expression was the same one she used when she was trying to convince Cassian or Sorcha to behave, it felt like an odd look for his mother to be giving his father now, but it seemed to work.

His father sighed and nodded in defeat. “Alright, but you’ll stay up on the balcony, and if anything happens you run back inside and lock the door.”

“Stay inside with your sister.” They told him, placing Sorcha back into her crib. But the moment his parents had closed the front door, Cassian dashed from his bedroom at the back of their apartment, to the living room window in the front, where he could see his mother standing on the balcony and several strange cars in the parking lot below.

A few moments later Cassian’s father emerged and walked into view, escorted by a large man with a shaved head and a black uniform. The stranger looked like the men on the news with the big guns, the ones who said things that Cassian didn’t understand but which made his father so angry. The stranger positioned Cassian’s father in front of the cars as several other men in similar outfits stepped towards them. They all stood around a man in a white coat, who Cassian recognized as one of the men from his father’s work. Cassian wished he could hear what was going on outside, but the glass was too thick and he could just about make out their lips moving as they talked.

Suddenly, seemingly without warning, the man in the white coat pulled a gun out of his jacket, and shot Cassian’s father twice.

Cassian didn’t scream or cry or move a muscle, but he could hear his mother screaming. Cassian merely watched as the men with the guns got back in their cars and drove away, and as his mother ran down to cradle his father in her arms. The dress she was wearing stained red from the blood on the pavement.

Sorcha started crying from the other room as if sensing that something was wrong, but still Cassian didn’t move. He couldn’t, he was paralyzed to that spot and would remain that way for the next few hours, until his American grandparents came and physically lifted him away from the window.

After his family left that night, they never returned to that apartment. It wasn’t too long after that when Cassian’s mother brought them back to Mexico to live with his grandmother, far away from the tragedy and the pain.

 

* * *

 

Cassian woke with a start, his eyes flashing open and his breath coming in heaves. His clothes felt clammy with sweat and his bedsheets were tangled around his legs like restraints. He never screamed, never cried out when he had the nightmares. The few people who had seen it happen said that all he does is twitch and whimper in his sleep until he wakes with a particularly violent jerk. Cassian took their word for it, and thanked whatever deity listened to non-believers that he doesn’t cry out.

Sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist, Cassian scrubbed his hands across his face; feeling the drag of his beard against his palms, feeling the contours of the ridges of his brows and cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. These simple facts steadied him, made this reality more solid than the one he just escaped from. Finally fully awake, Cassian cast a glance around the room to survey the damage his dreams had caused this time. His nightmares might not make him scream or thrash about, but they didn’t have to; his powers did more than enough damage to make up for it. This time it was relatively light; the desk had been thrown across the room and its contents were strewn about, but the chair had apparently been thrown against the ceiling judging by the cracks in the tiles and the splintered remains across the floor.

Cassian didn’t have time to deal with it now; there was a mission scheduled to depart in an hour, one that weighed heavily upon his mind… thus the nightmares. The haunted dreams that used to come every time he closed his eyes had all-but shuddered to a halt, and now only manifested under times of stress, but that meant whenever they did occur, they were all the more violent for his loss of control.

With a weary sigh, Cassian forced himself out of bed and into the en suite bathroom, gingerly picking his way across the floor in an effort to avoid the splinters. A private bunk was about as much luxury as the Alliance could afford to give to their higher-up operatives, and Cassian relished the fact that he had a private shower after years of using the communal wash rooms.

As he cleaned himself and dressed for the day, Cassian’s mind wandered. He did not dwell on his nightmare, an old one by this point, one that he’d been psychoanalyzing for years; but rather his mind was sifting through corridors and access codes, all data that would be necessary for the success of the day’s mission. It was a rescue op mission he was tasked with leading today, and the team had been hand-selected by Senator Mothma and Director Draven to maximize the efficiency.

An Alliance operative had gone missing.

Unfortunately this was not an uncommon occurrence, such things went with the territory of espionage and special ops work. But Bodhi Rook had gone missing during an undercover mission, where he was posing as a lab-tech in a facility that was suspected as being under Sith Industries’ control. Rumor also had it that this facility was part of the project that was developing some sort of weapon to be used against the Alliance and indeed, all Superhumans. Bodhi’s mission was simply to confirm the intelligence that had been passed along, and then get out as quickly as possible. When Bodhi had missed his check-in time his mission operator got nervous, when Bodhi failed to get in contact for a full 24-hours after missing his check-in, the alarm was sounded and a rescue team was assembled.

It was now Cassian’s job to see Bodhi home safely. Though why Bodhi had been selected for that mission at all, Cassian had no idea. He was not an intelligence operative, he was a pilot. What’s more his temperament was too nervous to lie convincingly, and his powers were not ones which would have marked him as being particularly useful to this mission either. He was however, invaluable when placed behind the controls of a quinjet, and had saved countless operative’s lives with complex maneuvers that averted attention or avoided being seen at all. Most of the Alliance owed Bodhi their life from one mission or another and the list of volunteers to retrieve him had been long. Cassian’s success rate for missions had ultimately been the thing that had put him in command of the rescue op. Though he and Bodhi were not particularly close, Cassian could be counted on to do everything in his power to get Bodhi home.

Stepping out of the shower Cassian wiped down the fogged-up mirror with a towel and stared at his own reflection. His hair was getting too long again; the front hung down past his ears if he didn’t keep it swept back. His beard was in need of a trim too. It wasn’t bad enough yet that it made his appearance conspicuous (the absolute worst possible thing that his appearance could be as an intelligence agent), but anyone who looked at him would see a man twice Cassian’s actual age due to the unkempt hair and bags beneath his eyes. Fortunately, it was not his appearance that made him an effective agent. In fact, his apparent lack of vanity spoke all the more highly of how thoroughly he had dedicated himself to this fight.

Ever since he learned what it was that his father actually did for a living, Cassian had vowed to follow in Jeron Andor’s footsteps. Even more so when his own powers has manifested, and his father’s fight for acceptance and the safety of all Superhumans had become Cassian’s own. (Much to his mother and sister’s chagrin.)

At the thought of his few remaining family members, Cassian pulled on the bathroom mirror that doubled as the door to a medicine cabinet. In that small space Cassian stored his razor blade and shaving cream, as well as a stick of deodorant but more importantly, a photograph. This was one of the few personal touches to Cassian’s quarters; a small, faded, dog-eared photograph of his mother and father holding him and his sister. Cassian stared at the photograph, running his thumb across the well-worn paper, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Esto es por ti, Papa.”

Sentimentality was not something that Cassian often afforded himself, a few photographs in his bunk and that was it. Nor could he afford much by way of human connection. Sorcha was constantly berating him to call more, to visit more, describing to him how he broke their mother’s heart for not showing up for Christmas for the second year in a row. But this work was important, the cause was important. Were it not for the Alliance, Sorcha would not be able to live and work as she did, with freedom and surrounded by a family who loved her. Everything Cassian had ever sacrificed by way of the blood shed and years spent in the service of the Alliance had been for her and other Supers like her, who simply wanted to live their lives in peace. Cassian would give anything -- had already given everything he’d been asked for – in order to see that dream achieved.

“Paging Agent Cassian Andor.” A hollow metallic voice announced from the speakers that were wired throughout the Alliance facility. “Requesting Agent Andor’s presence in the Situation Room. Repeat: requesting Agent Andor’s presence in the Situation Room for mission debriefing.”

Throwing on the first clean clothes that he came across, and the last few items he would need into a duffel bag, Cassian cast one last look around the room before switching off the light and departing.

The Alliance Situation Room was a large space filled with screens that were monitored 24/7 for activity. Some spaces were reserved for Operators, who would direct missions remotely and monitor their progress, sending evac when necessary or requesting backup when available. It was also where missions were planned and debriefed. The other members of Cassian’s team were already present when he arrived. Chirrut Îmwe stood next to his partner and husband Baze Malbus, neither of whom ever went on a mission without the other. Kay, Cassian’s typical partner on missions, was also present; standing off to the side and observing with his usual mix of attentiveness and apparent boredom. Cassian went to stand next to Kay, as they waited for Director Draven to start the debriefing.

“Right, gentlemen now that you’re all here, let’s get started.” Draven said, with his typical lack of dissembling. “In one hour you will all board a quinjet and be transported to the Alliance base closest to the target location, in this case it will be the New York Alliance headquarters about two miles southeast of the research facility. Upon arrival a van will be waiting for you with the proper documentation and uniforms to get you into the target facility. Agent Kay, you know your duties –”

Before Draven could continue Kay interrupted him. “Sync with the mainframe and extract what I can, and direct field operations from the van. What I always do, no?”

Cassian had to cough to cover his laugh as Draven merely stared at Kay blankly, unable to recognize when Kay was joking or not.

“Correct… Agent Îmwe, Agent Malbus and Agent Andor; after Agent Kay locates Rook’s cell, your job is to infiltrate the facility and make your way to sub-basement 3 were prisoners are kept. If Kay finds that there are any other Supers in captivity you have the Council’s permission to take them with you, provided that it will not jeopardize the success of the primary mission objectives. Once you retrieve Rook, return to the van, and get back to the checkpoint as quickly as possible. _Minimize_ hostile casualties as much as you can.” This was spoken almost directly to Baze, who merely grunted his understanding if not his agreement.

“Gentlemen, it’s a simple mission on paper, but remember you _are_ the rescue team. If anything goes wrong there is no back up, and there will be no further rescue. You were selected because you are our best, and the information that Mr. Rook has procured for us is _vital_ for the continued success of the Alliance’s mission. Good luck out there. Dismissed.”

With that Draven turned and left the Situation Room, leaving the four men who would be embarking on the mission to stare at each other awkwardly.

Cassian had never worked with Chirrut and Baze before. But they were two of the oldest Alliance operatives still on field duty, as such they were akin to living legends. Both had turned down numerous promotions and retirement plans in order to keep going. Although nowadays, Chirrut was mainly a talent-trainer at the Alliance headquarters’ school for young Supers, and Baze was a head of the complex’s security. Both were Supers themselves, and had long and impressive lists of completed missions in their dossiers.

“Agent Malbus, Agent Îmwe, it’s an honor to finally have the chance to work with both of you.”

Chirrut grinned in an uncanny way that seemed to light up the whole room. “No need for such formalities with us, Agent Andor. Why do you think we stopped accepting promotions? All those medals were weighing me down, and making Baze clank while he walked. Frankly, it was making him a target…”

“ _I’m_ the target?” Baze sputtered in a way that suggested Chirrut’s choice of words were an intentional dig, and that this was an on-going argument that the two had been having for at least as long as they’d known each other.

“’Chirrut’ and ‘Baze’ suit us just fine.” Chirrut said, ignoring his husband.

“And yet you call Cassian, ‘Agent Andor.’” Kay said, pointing out the obvious discrepancy.

“That’s different.” Chirrut replied quickly. “He’s our superior officer...”

Kay huffed as if he didn’t quite accept that answer and Cassian found himself fighting down a smirk.

“You may call me whatever you like.” Cassian said.

“Very well, Agent Andor.” Chirrut said, still smiling.

“Right, well if all the pleasantries are out of the way, could we get a move on please?” Kay said impatiently, starting to walk towards the exit.

Cassian cast Chirrut and Baze an apologetic glance.

“Is he always like that?” Asked Baze as they began to follow Kay towards the quinjet hangar.

“Unfortunately. It’s a by-product of his genius,” Cassian replied, “he’s brilliant with computers but never really worked out how to talk to people. If he wasn’t so good at what he does, I suspect Draven would have strangled him by now…”

“And what _does_ he do?” Chirrut asked.

A small smile tugged at the side of Cassian’s mouth and he gave a small huff of amusement. “It would be better for you to wait and find out…”

 

* * *

 

An hour later the quinjet touched down on the landing pad of the Alliance’s main headquarters in New York City, and a few minutes after that they’re crammed into the back of a van driving through Manhattan’s near-constant rush-hour traffic.

Cassian dosed while they drove, his head lolling on his shoulders. A good operative could snatch a few moments sleep anywhere, under any conditions, and a solid uninterrupted hour where Cassian had nothing better to do but twiddle his thumbs and wait was a luxury he was not often afforded. Though it was not long before the dreams came again, and Cassian jerked awake while they’re still twenty minutes away from their destination.

He considered going back to sleep, but Chirrut seemed intent on a conversation.

“You have bad dreams, Agent Andor?” The blind-man asked.

Cassian wondered how he knew. “It’s nothing. They won’t affect my performance on this mission.”

Chirrut gave one of his smiles, an enigmatic one this time. “That’s not what I asked… You seem to carry a lot of darkness and sorrow with you. It may not affect the mission today, but there is more to life than just Alliance missions.”

_There isn’t for me…_ Cassian almost said, but bit his tongue at the last second. Chirrut inclined his head and huffed as if he’d heard it anyway, and Cassian wondered for a moment if the man was telepathic on top of everything else that was different about him.

Cassian was ready to drop the subject but it seemed that Chirrut had not exhausted himself of words just yet. “If you ever feel that you would like to talk about it, I’ve been told that I’m a good listener…” He said, finishing off with a sly grin.

Cassian could have almost laughed at the obvious joke, but he was simply too unsettled by Chirrut’s words to do anything more than offer a nod and a tight smile. Talking about his feelings was simply out of the question, with Chirrut or with anyone else. To talk about his feelings would mean he would then have to acknowledge them, and to acknowledge them would be to feel them, and to feel them would be to lose control… Bad things happened when Cassian Andor lost control.

“Leave him be.” Baze said quietly to his husband, and Cassian didn’t know which was worse: Chirrut somehow being able to read his mind, or Baze, who definitely was _not_ telepathic, knowing that it had affected him negatively.

They remained silent for the rest of the ride, but Cassian couldn’t find sleep again after that.

The facility they were tasked with infiltrating was in the middle of a warehouse district on the west-side of Manhattan. It was the perfect kind of area to hide an illegal research facility, no one frequented the area except to collect or deposit cargo. Even then, truckers were -- generally speaking -- not curious folk; preferring to finish their job and get paid rather than wondering what was going on in that one warehouse with the heightened security.

To the credit of whatever organization was behind its existence, the facility looked identical to every other warehouse along that side of the river. A large rectangular building, with wide windows and large bay doors for loading shipments onto trucks. The only differences were the armed guards posted outside, and the addition of a smoke-stack on the roof that belched white vapour.

The intelligence they were given turned out to be good, and the passcodes they used to get through the gates were accepted, as were the fake security badges for Sith Industries that the Alliance used for deep-cover missions.

At least the rumour that this was actually a Sith Industry lab could now be confirmed.

Once past the first level of security, Kay parked them towards the back of the building. Then the four began to prepare for their mission, with Cassian and Baze slipping on a lab coats and Chirrut climbing into a hazmat suit in order to hide his sightless-eyes. Simultaneously Kay strapped himself into a chair that connected to a series of computers, and slipped on a futuristic looking helmet covered in wires.

“Is this what he does?” Chirrut asked referencing his earlier question, his ear turning towards the pile of machines inquisitorially.

“It is, but first -- Kay before you sync up, let’s make sure the comms are working.” Cassian said.

Kay sighed as if greatly inconvenienced by standard procedure. “Very well. This is Strike 4 checking in. Codename: Singularity, standing by.”

Cassian went next. “This is Strike Leader checking in. Codename: Fulcrum, standing by.”

Then Chirrut. “This is Strike 2 checking in. Codename: Daredevil, standing by.”

Then finally Baze. “This is Strike 3 checking in. Codename: the Guardian, standing by.”

Even after nearly a dozen years using them, Cassian still felt foolish having to go by a codename during missions. It seemed like something out of a comic book, but then again… He _was_ a man with telekinetic powers surrounded by similarly super-powered individuals.

“All the comms appear to be working, Fulcrum. Do I have permission to proceed?” Kay said, giving Cassian a dour look.

Cassian simply nodded in response and Kay adjusted himself in his seat, getting into a more comfortable position.

“Strike Team this is Singularity; starting sync in ten seconds… nine… eight… seven…”

Baze leaned closer to Cassian as the countdown continued. “What is he doing?”

Cassian whispered back. “This is Kay’s talent. There’s something about the way his brain functions that allows him to synchronize with sufficiently complex computers. He’s going to be our man on the inside -- literally, since this whole facility is run through a central processor.”

“Three… two… one… zero… Sync engaged.”

Kay’s body jerked once, twice, then a third time before going limp, his eyes staring wide but unseeing as his mind was elsewhere entirely. It was in these short moments that Cassian’s heart always lodged in his throat, because if Kay didn’t give any indication that the sync had been successful it meant that he might have gotten lost in the process, or was stuck in the machine with no way of telling them how to fix it. Just the thought of losing Kay to this was enough to set Cassian’s pulse pounding. They’d been working together as partners on missions for almost six years now. It was the kind of relationship that you couldn’t replace. A bond had developed despite Kay’s ornery nature and Cassian’s defensiveness. Kay was one of Cassian’s few weak spots, and even the use of Kay’s powers threatened it.

“Sync successful. Strike Team do you copy?” came Kay’s voice over the comms, though his lips did not move and Cassian breathed a sigh of relief, unclenching the fist he had not realized he’d made.  

“That’s wonderful!” Baze exclaimed, clapping his hands together once, clearly impressed.

Chirrut however, still looked confused. “I don’t…”

“I have moved my consciousness from within my own body into the digital mainframe of these computer processors. So long as Cassian can find a port to patch me into the facility’s computer systems, I should be able to explore the facility ahead of you to locate Bodhi Rook and then aid in your escape. I might also be able to see what it is that the Sith have been devising in those laboratories if we get very lucky. But chances of that occurring are less than 20%.”

“Incredible.” Chirrut said, simply.

“Thank you.” Kay replied. “Now I suggest you get a move on. The longer we dally here, the longer Bodhi is in unfriendly hands. Do not worry about me, I can still drive the truck in this state.” As if to illustrate this fact, Kay turned the engine over and revved it a few times.

It was enough of a warning to get the team out of the truck and on their way into the building. Being a Saturday very few employees were around, mostly just guards, and once they got past the front door no one really asked questions about their presence. The most frustrating thing was that it took Cassian a while to find a suitable terminal from which to patch Kay into the system, but eventually Cassian did find a suitable computer and quickly attached a small blue-tooth capable device that Kay could connect to from the van.

“Took you long enough.” Kay grumbled over the comms. The lights in the room flickered once as Kay found his way inside, and they waited for his instructions, trying their best to look like a group of scientists taking a break. “Scanning data banks for target’s location now…” Came Kay’s voice, though his next words struck a chord of fear into Cassian’s heart. “Singularity to Strike Team… Something is wrong.”

“Kay?” Cassian said gripping his comm link, and dropping his partner’s codename in alarm. “What’s happened? What’s going on? Get out of there!”

“No, I’m fine. But mission-target appears to no longer be in this facility…”

That was not good news, it meant that Bodhi could be literally anywhere by this point. Cassian and Baze shared a look.

“What do you mean?” Cassian asked, in hopes that Kay would clarify his point to give them better news.

“According to facility data records, there was a raid not three days ago… Several Supers being held here were all taken by the infiltrators at the time. Our mission’s primary target was among those taken.”

 “Taken by who?” Cassian snapped. “What infiltrators? Alliance operatives?”

“No, not the Alliance. Judging by the security footage they appear to have been members of Saw Gerrera’s Partisans.”

Cassian swore. Saw Gerrera was not friendly with the Alliance, having broken with them years ago over the debate surrounding Supers’ role in the world. The Alliance believed in cooperation and mutual protection, Saw believed that the only way for Supers to survive in the world was for them to separate themselves from the rest of it, and guard themselves against outside interference. He was a radical, and according to his dossier: highly dangerous and volatile, apparently content to be at war with the whole world. Saw spent most of his time defending and building up an island along the mid-Atlantic ridge that he had claimed as his own, citing it as ‘new land for new humans.’ It was hard to say whether Bodhi was better off with the Sith, or with Saw; who would inevitably see the pilot as a traitor to their kind for being part of the Alliance.

“So this whole mission has been for nothing?” Baze asked.

“Not for nothing.” Cassian said, “Strike team to Singularity; are there any other targets suitable for extraction on the premises?”

A pause. “Affirmative. Three secondary targets located in the western corridor of level three.”

“Then if nothing else, we’ll get them out.” Cassian said.

“Fulcrum, wait, there is another -- but this can’t be right…”

“What is it?”

“The records show that one of their operative teams has brought in Jyn Erso…” When no indication that the significance of this individual was understood, Kay elaborated. “The daughter of _Galen_ Erso?”

Chirrut made a soft noise, like he had been struck. But when Baze turned a concerned eye on him, Chirrut waved him off dismissively. “I’m alright.” He said. “It’s nothing.”

“What is she doing here?” Cassian asked Kay a bit redundantly.

“I would imagine the same as everyone else, Alliance records state that she is a Super, as was her mother… Shall she be included in the rescue mission too? She’s being held at the opposite end of the facility.”

That posed some difficulty, this mission would require speed as much as stealth. They likely wouldn’t have time to sweep the whole facility, and then get back to the van without reinforcements arriving. As it was, they were going to risk engaging with the facility’s security teams to get the prisoners out. But Cassian knew the Alliance would want Jyn Erso brought in, though the idea of leaving the other prisoners behind didn’t sit well with him either.

Once more Chirrut reacted in a way that Cassian did not fully understand. “We are not leaving her here.” He insisted, and it was the determination on his face that convinced Cassian as much as anything else.

After a moment’s pause to consider his options, Cassian spoke once more into the comm, “Strike team to Singularity; can the prisoner, Jyn Erso, walk without assistance?”

“Security footage shows that she has not been injured in any significant way, so it is not unreasonable to assume that she is able to walk under her own power.” Kay replied.

“Then lead her out of here, Kay. Baze, Chirrut and I will get the others. Have her rendezvous with us back at the truck.”

Cassian thought he heard a sigh. “Very well. I will need to cut power to the building in order for us to free the prisoners.” Kay seemed to hesitate. “They are wearing shock collars…”

The reactions of the team to this information was varied; Baze swore, Chirrut offered up a prayer, Cassian said nothing for several moments before closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath.

“Shut it down.” Cassian growled, tension visible in every line of his body. This wasn’t the first time he had come across examples of Sith Industries treating Supers like animals, but it didn’t make Cassian any less angry for all that it wasn’t the first. “Do whatever you have to do to disable the collars, we’ll take care of the rest.” Only the most advanced of security measures could stand up to the force of Cassian’s telekinetic abilities, part of the reason why he’d been selected for this mission, and a fact he intended to make use of with relish.

“Understood.” Kay replied, at which point the comm link went dead, as Kay devoted his energies towards manipulating the security systems to begin the extraction process.

Chirrut was once more regarding Cassian without actually looking at him, and this time Cassian didn’t care if Chirrut could feel his anger. Let him, there was no shame in this kind of outrage. It wasn’t the kind that would make him lose control, in fact, this moral indignation would lend a level of focus that Cassian would only benefit from.

“Leave the disguises, they won’t be of any use to us once the lights go out.” Cassian said to the others, shucking off his own lab-coat. “But keep the badges with you, they might still come in handy. Here’s what we’re doing,” Cassian stepped closer to the other two men to outline their plan, “We head down to the sub-basement fast and quiet. We silence any guards that we encounter, as they will only raise the alarm on us and call in reinforcements.”

Baze looked particularly pleased by this development.

“We get the prisoners out, and then get back to the van as quickly as possible. Understood?”

“What about Jyn Erso?” Chirrut asked.

“Trust me, Kay can handle it. Almost every piece of equipment in this facility is tied into a computer in some way, Kay has control over all of it. He can get her out much more easily than we would be able to.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Chirrut as he inclined his head and relaxed.

“Just focus on what we’re doing.” Cassian advised. “Getting out of here won’t be easy, so stay close. If someone gets left behind we’re leaving without them.”

Both Baze and Chirrut nodded at this, though something about the way they stood told Cassian that neither would leave the other under any circumstance.  

At that same moment the facility plunged into darkness, followed by the cries of alarm from several members of staff on the floor. “That’s our cue.” Cassian said, glancing around. It wouldn’t be long before they encountered their first hostile, they needed to get moving.

“May the Force be with us.” Chirrut said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the one plus side to the editing process for this chapter taking so long is that it means that chapter 3 is already drafted. So once it’s edited I will put it right up. 
> 
> A note about Saw Gerrera’s island: I’ve specifically modelled Saw Gerrera in this fic after Magneto from the X-Men. (Although I’ve forgone the extremist-villain trope, in favour of one that more closely resembles Saw’s role in the Star Wars Universe.) In one of the many plot lines involving the X-men, Magneto gets mixed up ruling an island nation called Genosha. So I’ve created a similar island nation along the mid-Atlantic ridge (similar to Iceland) where Saw could start his super-human colony. As such, it is an island entirely of my own design, and a complete work of fiction.
> 
> Just one last reminder, seeing kudos and reading comments really does keep me motivated for writing this fic. Even something as simple as “Liked it!” or “Can’t wait to see what happens next!” is just as motivational as a longer comment. So please remember to feed your poor fic writer!
> 
> Next up: Jyn gets rescued, but is not happy about it.


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